Do One Thing

Do one thing today
that smacks of love.
Don’t bother with if
or how it will be received.
If this is a stumper
here’s something –
look up (make eye contact)
and tell the sky thank you
for being the sky.
Should this lead to other things,
say being flabbergasted at how 
clouds float, or curious as to who’s
in seat 7B in that airplane,
or imagining you are a jay
that could fly, fly away
then you’ve done at least
two lovely things today,
maybe even more.
You can still do this
if its raining, but it’ll look different.
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Sunday’s Best

I went to church this morning
in a corner of my mind
where the women all smelled Beautiful
and the men all sounded happy.
We knew it all a lie but what better place
for liars to congregate than a room
where our lisping stammering selves
could stand shoulder to shoulder
and sing nobler, sweeter songs?
Maybe Sunday’s best was
not so much something we put on
as it was a hope to dream of
for a couple of hours with friends.
I don’t know that this was true,
that we worshiped that keenly.
But like most things, it could have been.
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The 12th of September

This is the day the Lord hath made.
This is also the day Cash died
so while I find joy in the making I also
shoulder grief at the taking of one whose
voice was second only to my father’s
when I was a boy and growing.
And sometimes, when my father would
lose himself and sing of unbroken circles,
the two voices, they were one.
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Little Throats and Feathers

I worry about my life at times,
that I’ve not built an orphanage overseas
or speak with marqueed frequency on
platforms warmed with light.
Jesus said when tempted to worry
about such things to behold the birds.
That’s what he said. Birds.
And so in those times I rub my senses
clear and wait for the singing.
I confess more often than not I have eyes
that cannot see. But I hear them and
I am always astonished by the miracle
of the little throats and feathers.
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Like Last Year

Its been a month now.
C’mon, most of us have forgotten
the night sounds of Ferguson.
Hell, we’ve got fantasy football
and that enterovirus to
worry with now plus
is almost here, kids.
Yessir, all of that and so much
American more eracing
the blacker shades of brown.
But really, whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha gonna do?
Yeah, the time’ll change soon too.
Darker earlier, colder,
like last year.
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As It Is

I pray as I was taught,
in the King’s tongue.
So I do not ask to be forgiven
of sins but trespasses –
those times I cut your fence
and the times you cut mine.
This I pray daily,
long ago convicted the Kingdom
only comes by mending.
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And so it is with gladness
that I see the summer cease
replaced by autumn’s aching
with the chill of colored peace.
And so it is with gladness
that I turn this season’s page
in wishful hope that colder words
will heal my summer rage.
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